Her pilgrimage is like those old Saharan
films where the doomed figure staggers up dune
after dune, knowing like us the end is soon
but nonetheless keeps stumbling through this barren
world—to what exactly? Salvation? Water?
And now she passes all the couples, hand
in hand or trading rubdowns, supremely tanned.
She focuses on her three-legged totter,
ignoring children, too, who burrow grain
by grain to China. So many holes and hassles!
She continues her assault upon the sands,
stepping on blankets, squashing fresh sandcastles.
Deaf to the children’s gull-like cries, she stands
knee-deep and slashes at the waves with her cane.